Loser for Sale
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: In this computer day and age, when money and power are all balanced on a key stroke, an arms dealer getting his hands on a hacker is like getting his hands on a nuke... without the environmental protests! WARNINGS: strong language, suggestion of sexual misconduct in the future. Rated M just to be careful
1. Chapter 1

A/N Been awhile since I've posted anything and this Fandom is new to me. But the movie caught my eye and a scene bashed its way through my skull. So, it's write or never sleep again.

And I do miss sleep.~~The Chronicler

(Don't own the Losers, but, hey, my birthday's coming up... hint, hint)

Loser for Sale

By The Chronicler

0o0o0o0

The squeal of excited joy made even Cougar wince.

Four heads turned at odd angles, four pairs of eyes finding the source of the ear piercing squeal.

Captain J. Jenson was too distracted to give a hoot. "Oh, my, my, my!" he purred at the technical wonder before him as his hands, ever so gently, caressed the sleek, silver casing. "I am in love." He looked up at his teammates. "Seriously: in love! Gonna need a best man. Bachelor party…"

His teammates exchanged mildly amused glances.

"What do you know?" Roque huffed. "Jenson's finally gonna get laid."

"Does it have a port small enough?" Pooch wondered.

Cougar smirked, shaking his head before he raised his rifle and went back to the business of making sure all stayed clear out their exit, a dented in garage door raised only two feet off the ground.

"Oooooh, don't listen to them, baby." Jenson continued to pet the computer, leaning close to offer it a snuggle. "You got all I need…"

"Oh, get a room." Pooch groaned, turning back to his job of watching the exit.

But the hacker was nowhere near discouraged. He continued to purr and romance the computer, petting the keys, receiving exciting responses of color and data across its fast and pleasing screen. "Oh, baby, you know what I like… yea, baby, that's the spot… baby, oh, just like that, baby…. Oooooohhhh, baaaaby….."

"I swear, Clay, one more baby and I'm guttin' them both!" Roque warned. "Screw the honeymoon!"

Smiling, Clay stepped up behind his young hacker and encouraged "Jenson…"

"Oh, ba…" Jenson stopped short and threw a glance at Roque who sneered at him before stomping off to watch the hall door. "…Man…. Boss, this is the Lady of all computers! She is the slickest, smoothest, fastest…"

"I get it. Love. Marriage. I-phones in the baby carriage." Clay interrupted, glancing at his watch. "Can you get in?"

"Man, I am sooooo in!" Jenson nearly panted as his fingers danced across the keys. "I have her in my grasp. Legs are wrapped around my waist. Hand is up her skirt. She's swooning to my manly…"

"Okay then." Again Clay cut him off. "Three minutes, Captain, and counting." Leaving Jenson to his swooning and whatever else he didn't want to think of going on, he joined Roque by the hall door. "All good?" Clay asked in a hush tone of Roque.

"All good… so far." Roque answered in the same hushed tone. Then he looked Clay straight on and asked "You even know what the hell an I-phone is?"

Clay smiled, shaking his head. Instead of answering, he said "Keep it good. I'll send Cougar out in two. Bring up the rear." Receiving a waved salute, Clay turned to connect with his other two men.

As always, Cougar was completely focused, 100% deadly, his black cowboy hat pulled low, his rife at the ready. He laid flat on the ground, peering out from under the door.

Clay crouched beside him. "Cougar?" A barely noticeable twitch of the hat told the Colonel all he needed to know. Giving the sniper a pat on the back, Clay rose to find his last man.

Pooch was checking out a rather nice, heavily armored, heavily armed ATV. When he saw Clay approaching, he asked "Evac wheels?" There was kid in a candy store plea to his tone and big, hopeful eyes.

The Colonel once more found himself smiling. "If we get out all nice and quiet, I'll steal one for you from Black Water." He patted the man on the shoulder, reminding him of their mission, before glancing around to take in any corner that might need his attention.

It was an armory of sorts, a storage space for everything important to your worldly, indiscrimitve weapons dealer. Everything from mines to machine guns to a high sophisticated computer that could predict, pinpoint, and paint a target days before the strike (or some other confusing geek hacker crap that Clay just couldn't grasp to save his life [good thing he had Jenson]).

The Losers' job: get in, copy the apparently impressive tech Jenson was currently getting overly friendly with, get out without anyone knowing the better.

First part was a breeze.

Second part going well (for the exception of the uncomfortable witnessing of geek lust).

So far, so good.

That usually was when the Losers namesake kicked them in the ass.

"Huh." Jenson's sudden change in tempo caught Clay's attention.

"Huh what?" Clay demanded, stepping back toward youngest Loser.

"What, J?" Roque teased. "She got herpes or somethin'?"

Pooch chuckled. "Talk about bugs in the system."

Jenson leaned back, frowning at his new lover. "This isn't right." he mumbled more to himself than answering anyone.

"What isn't right?" Clay again made a demand. He threw each of his men a quick glare, reminding them that they were on a mission and not chaperoning Jenson's Senior Prom.

"This is wrong." Was Jenson's way of clarifying the situation.

"Captain Jenson!" Clay snapped.

Jenson's eyes snapped up to his commanding officer.

"What! Is! Wrong!"

The hacker waved a hand at the computer. "It's all window dressing." When Clay's eyes narrowed dangerously, Jenson hurried on to explain "The program is there, but it doesn't work."

"How do you know it doesn't work?" Roque wanted to know. "You gave it a quick slap on the ass while you were mooning…"

"You were just supposed to copy the program." Clay reminded Jenson.

But Jenson was shaking his head. "The prediction system is sound in the bases, but, brush away the encryption algorithms, and there's no path that accounts for the variables of…"

"Hey!" Clay interrupted. When Jenson looked up at him, he reminded the kid "Stupid it down some, would you."

The kid shrugged. "Pretty pictures. But any geniuses hacker can tell there isn't anything else here." He scratched his chin. "Just a shiny bobble."

Pooch huffed. "All this trouble for a pretty bobble? Coulda just snatched one off Cougar's fishing pole."

Clay frowned for only half a second before his head snapped about to see Roque suddenly just as alarmed as he was. "A lure?"

"A trap!" Roque snarled.

"Everyone out!" Clay snapped out orders. "Cougar, get to high ground, give us cover! Pooch..."

"Boss, I could tag this thing… find out where it came from…. Who set us up…" Jenson was offering, already tapping away at the keys.

"Leave it!" Roque snapped. He made a snatch at the kid on his way back, but something suddenly hit him in the shoulder, spinning him away from Jenson.

"Roque!" Jenson cried, leaping after him. He was only a step away when he was tackled from the side, slammed to the ground in the opposite direction of his team.

Men came pouring in from every opening into the room. From under the garage door, through the hall door, out from within the ATV… within a breath, there were fifteen guns trained on the four members of the Losers.

Pooch was backed up against the ATV, being disarmed by one man, while another five kept him in their sights.

Roque was snarling and growling as he grasped his bleeding shoulder. One man was trying to pull his weapon away and, when Roque took a weak swing at him, he kicked the downed Loser in the head, dazing him long enough to be disarmed.

Jenson was struggling on the floor, wrestling with a pair, but a quick punch to the face, bouncing his head back against the cement. A nasty sounding thud and Jenson lost the fight.

Lt. Colonel Franklin Clay stood in the center of the room, hands held out, as numerous weapons settled on him. Defeated before they could even think to respond.

They had been so utterly blindsided that there was no fighting back. He had led his men right into a damn ambush! They were dead by rights! He knew it!

And that's what had Clay pausing. Why were they still alive?

"Gentle! Gentle!" called a tall, well-dressed man, holding his hands up to the men on top of Jenson. "No damaging of the goods." He waved the men to drag the hacker to his feet. Stepping up to their prisoner, he took Jenson by the chin and turned his face up. Wincing, he offered "Ooooh, sorry about that." Tilting his head, he assured Jenson "You'll live. We'll make sure of that."

Jenson jerked his head away, his bright blue eyes glaring at the man.

The man smiled, perfect white teeth doing little to ease the feeling Jenson had of being eyed by a Great White shark. He looked back at Clay, then found the other two Losers. He frowned. "Where's the cowboy?" he wondered.

Clay was careful not to look around. He knew Cougar wouldn't be far. All the sniper needed was a good vantage point and they'd all be buying him a beer back at the base by tomorrow night.

Two of their attackers dragged the still snarling Roque back, dropping him at Clay's feet. Pooch was shoved forward to join his teammates. Only Jenson was kept separate, which Clay found more than a little unsettling.

"Roque?" Clay called, calmly.

"Fuck! What?!" snapped his second in command.

"You gonna live?"

"Just fucking long enough to fuck someone the fuck up!" was the snarled response.

"Pooch?"

Reaching down to help Roque to his feet, Pooch answered "Just another picnic in the Bronx, sir."

The well-dressed man clapped his hands. "Ha! I must really try a picnic in the Bronx."

Ignoring him, Clay tilted his head, looking at his hacker still being held with a dozen men between him and his teammates. "Jenson?"

"Yea… Yes, sir." The young Captain blinked away bleary vision. "I'm good." he assured.

"Actually!" interrupted their host, "He is very, VERY good! Best damn hacker I have seen in a coon's age. And, considering hackers haven't been around all that long, that'd just about make him the best I've ever seen!" He clapped his hands and giggled as he practically skipped around Jenson like a kid who got just what he wanted for Christmas. "Oh, he's just tasty!" He reached out to pet Jenson's arm.

The hacker jerked away, but his captors kept him from moving too far.

Clay suddenly felt a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. "Jenson." He hissed, realizing what this was all about.

Only a good hacker could have found that computer.

Only a great hacker could have opened the system.

Only the best hacker could have discovered that the system was only bait.

"Jenson?!" Roque snarled, looking from his bloody hands to his young teammate. "This whole shit-up's about Jenson?"

The three Losers looked across the guns and enemy faces to stare at Jenson.

The young hacker's eyes went from narrowed confusion to wide with alarm.

"Who are you?" Clay wanted to know.

The well-dressed man hesitated in admiring his prize to look back at the Colonel. "Why? Plan on winning him back?" He smirked and shrugged. Giving Jenson a pat on the chest, he turned to face Clay. "I am a business man. I predict what will sell and I acquire it."

"You think someone's gonna pay for wimpy Jenson?" Roque chuckled. "Man, did you fuck up! When did geeks get in high demand?"

Their host frowned. "Since the beginning of the computer age." He answered, sounding more than a little put off with having to answer questions from such a lower life form. He shook his head in disgust at the burly soldier. "You never knew what you had! Don't understand a damn thing if it can't be beat down with fists… or stabbed or shot or blown to kingdom come! You are nothing but an ape with a gun, pounding away in the mud and blood… bah!"

He adjusted his gaze to include only Clay. His tone lost its edge as he explained "Blow up a building, and economies take a hit, but they rebuild. More jobs are created just to support the rebuild and protection of said building." He took a step forward as if he really wanted Clay to understand what he was losing. "But if you strike at the economy itself… drain the right accounts, leak the right files, know the moves before they are made…" he shook a finger in the air. "Discover the true power of a nation… of a world… you could collapse entire governments! Without firing a single short!"

"And you think Jenson will do that for you?" Clay asked slowly, carefully.

Keep him talking.

Draw it out.

Think!

He knew he had to get his men outside, out where Cougar could cover them. But how was he gonna get all of them out when a small army stood between him and the youngest of his Losers?

"You weren't listening." Their host shook his head. "I don't care about governments, who rules the world, who falls into shadow." He laid a hand on his chest. "I am a locator, a finder of rare goods. I procure them; I tidy them up; I prepare them for their new function; and, then, I sell them."

"What if I don't want to be sold?" Jenson finally managed to speak up for himself, giving his arms a jerk. "Think I'll do shit for you?!"

His captors were quick to jerk him back into place. Jenson wasn't small, but, in the hands of these men, he was beginning to look more and more like a little boy.

A defiant, wayward little boy, but little boy none the less.

The well-dressed man smiled. Not bothering to look back at his prize, he looked over the three Losers in front of him. Then he pointed a finger at Roque. "Kill him." He said it as if it was nothing. As if he was telling him to put out the cat or close the drapes.

One of the gunmen stepped forward, raising the barrel of his gun until it was level with Roque's snarling and spitting head.

Both Clay and Pooch jerked forward to protect their teammate, only to be shoved and jerked back into place.

"Wait!" Jenson yelled, jerking against his captors. "Stop! Don't!"

Their host snapped up a hand.

The gunman's finger froze in mid-squeeze.

Slowly, the well-dressed man turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.

Jenson's eyes were big as he looked from their host to Roque.

"Don't you do it, kid!" Roque warned. "Don't you give that fuckin' bastard a thing! Not for me!"

Big blue eyes turned up to find Clay, desperate for him to say something, to give him an order, to tell him what to do.

Clay pulled against his captors until one jabbed a gun muzzle in his gut, doubling him over.

Their host began to lower his hand.

"Wait! Fine! Whatever!" Jenson quickly gave in.

The well-dressed man spun about on the balls of his feet and stepped back to his prize. He gave Jenson a pat on the cheek. "'Course you will. 'Course you will." He purred. He glanced down at his watch. "Well, off we go. Say bye-bye to your friends, now."

"You kill them and I won't do shit!" Jenson warned. "You put me in front of a computer and I'll bring down your economics!"

The man took a step back and looked him up and down slowly. His smile never wavered. "I do believe you." He admitted. "No worries, love. Long as we part all nice and friendly, not one of my men will put a bullet…" he paused to glance back at Roque. "Well, not another bullet in any of your precious, little friends." He held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

Blue eyes once again sought out Clay.

Clay fought the urge to just fuck it! And dive after his man.

Take the bullet!

Take A LOT of bullets!

But don't let them walk out of this damn joint with Jenson!

Not his man!

But then those blue eyes broke away.

"Clay… don't you let him go!" Roque hissed. It was the closest the big man would ever come to pleading. He knew, if Jenson walked out that door, the chances of ever seeing the kid alive again were next to zilch.

"J, we got you, man." Pooch called to his friend. He didn't give a damn about the odds. He was ready to fight for him… right here, right now, go down in a hail of bullets… rather die trying, than do shit nothing!

But Jenson shook his head. Not looking at them, he just shook his head.

With a twirl of his finger, the well-dressed man started the men holding Jenson back for the hall door.

"Jake!" Clay suddenly called before they could push him through the door. When Jenson looked back at him, grabbing the door frame so he could stop for one last hope, Clay swore to him "I will find you! I will get you back!"

The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know." He answered. Then his fingers had been pride from the door frame and he was hustled out of sight.

Humming to himself, the well-dressed man started to follow his men.

"Who are you?" Clay demanded one more time.

The man paused, turning and looking at him as if he had almost forgotten that he was even there. After a moment's thought, he shrugged. "Mr. Blond will do."

"Really?" Pooch huffed. "Mr. Blond? Get real!"

Mr. Blond gave a deep bow, before waving to one of his men. "Take them out the garage to kill them. I wouldn't want to upset my new toy."

"Wait a minute!" Pooch protested. "What about that whole no bullets thing?"

Mr. Blond sighed. "Very well. No bullets." He threw the Losers a smile. "Lots of ways to kill a body that have nothing at all to do with bullets." He was chuckling to himself as he left the room.

"Well, shit." Roque cussed, but he didn't put up a fight as the gunmen started to shove them toward the garage door. "Just what the fuck we gonna do now, Clay?"

"What about J?" Pooch wanted to know. He ducked under the garage door as it was being opened. They had to wait for it to raise higher before the taller Clay and Roque were pushed under. "We gotta get him back. Boss, they're gonna screw him up one way then another!"

Clay didn't answer as he carefully took in the sites.

Only eight men had been left to take care of them. The other seven went with Jenson and Mr. Blond. The ground was open, sight was clear. Gate was open, the jungle beyond looked empty of everything but poop flinging monkeys and snakes. Somewhere beyond the building they had just left was the sound of a chopper.

Apparently Mr. Blond wasn't planning on hanging around, risking Jenson of finding out what happened to the Losers.

"First thing's first." Roque growled. "Save our own butts. Then we can go do something about Jenson's." As they stepped out into the open courtyard, Roque stopped and turned to face the gunman who had been pushing him. "Touch me again and I'm gonna shove that pea shooter so far up your ass farting'll blow your fuckin' head clean off!"

The gunman raised an eyebrow. With a smirked, he jabbed his weapon at the Captain.

Roque moved with all the speed and brutality that he was famous for. Shoving the muzzle aside, a huge knife appearing out of nowhere, he sliced up through his tormentor, from groin to sternum. In the same, fluid move, Roque pushed back, sending the body slamming into the next.

Clay was moving even before Roque. Fist striking out, catching his guard square in the nose, exploding it like an over ripe tomato, Clay sent a kick at the man's knee.

Blinded by blood and tears, knee snapped, he went down with a scream.

Pooch was only a breath behind his teammates, moving lightning fast. Fist to a throat, kick to the groin… then he stopped cold, feeling the hard barrel of a gun pressing to the back of his head. "Hey!" he protested again. "No bullets!"

A whistle blew pass his ear and suddenly the pressure from the gun was gone.

Three more far off shots whistled through the air.

Three more of the enemy fell.

Leaving Roque and his violent temper and big knife to finish the last.

Pooch spun about, searching the jungle hills surrounding the compound. "Cougar?" he called out.

"Sure as hell wasn't your fairy godmother!" Roque assured. Stumbling to his feet, he glanced around, making sure there wasn't anyone left to kill.

"Get out!" Clay ordered as he grabbed a gun and headed back into the building and after Jenson.

0o0o0o0o0

Captain Jake Jenson kept looking over his shoulder.

He had no plans what-so-ever of going anywhere with scary Mr. Blond and his pack of gorillas. He just needed to give the boys enough to time to shake loose the goon squad and come after him.

So, name of the game was delay.

Delay…

Delay…..

Delay….

Where the hell were they? Stopping for coffee?!

"Hey, so how about them Jets?" Jenson asked one of the gorillas, pausing so he could turn and have a conversation with the man.

He was answered with a grunt and a shove.

"Okay…. Not a Jets fan… hey! Did you see that Captain America movie?" He grinned at the gorilla on the other side. "Now, man, there's an American hero for you… right? Who'd have thunk, huh? Little, skinny, geeky guy like that just pop out a whole, big, red white and blue, good looking guy like that! Right? Am I right? But, you know, might not be that great when you have that sit down with your kid about steroids… you know?" Another grunt and another shove. "Not Marvel fans? Anyone read DC comics?"

"Mr. Jenson." Mr. Blond spoke up with a chuckle. "I doubt too many of them can even read." He shrugged. "Not what they're paid for after all."

Jenson ground his teeth as he was shoved out the door. "You know, sitting me down in front of a computer isn't always the best way to keep me in control." He warned. "I'm pretty useless to you… to much of anyone, you know…"

Mr. Blond stepped up to walk at his side as the crossed a small garden. He enjoyed seeing the boy's eyes go big when he saw the helicopter.

The hacker dug his heals in, grinding the procession to a halt. He knew that, once in the air, there would be no getting saved. He was gone. So he made one last ditch effort to stall. "I'm just wasted money. Leave me here. Hell, shoot me if you like. Call it a learning experience…. A Bronx picnic!"

But Mr. Blond simply turned to face him and smiled that Great White Shark smile of his. "Mr. Jenson, I don't waste money. You see, there's an advantage to selling human weapons: if they don't fire as planned, there is always a whole other trade I can turn to." He reached up and patted Jenson's cheek. "A sweet, pretty, all American boy like you…." He turned and continued toward the chopper. "There's a lot of money made in the sex trade, you know, Mr. Jenson."

Jenson felt his chest tighten until his heart was in his throat. Yet, he managed to squeak out a "Huh?"

Mr. Blond waved a hand. "Gentlemen, perhaps Mr. Jenson would be comfortable if he was more… unconscious."

A sharp pain hit Jenson at the base of his neck.

"Ow!" he complained, hand snapping up to swat the needle away. "Well, shit, that wasn't coo…" the world went black and he fell forward into the waiting arms of the gorillas who quickly dragged him to the helicopter.

"Aw…" breathed Mr. Blond. "Sweet silence." He looked up at his gorillas after stepping into his seat in the chopper. "Why do I have a feeling silence is going to be a rarity in the coming days?"

"BLOND!" came a roar barely audible over the chopper's engine.

Gorillas and boss looked back to see Clay, flanked by his Losers, coming through the garden toward them.

"My. He does look piss." Mr. Blond observed. "Do kill him for me." He gave his last order, before sliding the chopper door close.

Bullets bounced off the metal bird as it took to the air, leaving the well-dressed man's seven remaining men behind to face the Losers.

Mr. Blond knew his men were dead, but wasted no remorse on them. If anything, Clay and his unit just saved him from having to pay them off. If luck had it that one survived to be question, he had no worries. After all, they were just gorillas. They knew nothing of his base of operation, his plans for young Jenson, even his name.

They were in the air.

They were away.

He had won.

The end.

Leaning back, Mr. Blond looked at the young man strapped into the seat beside him, head hanging silently on his chest. He reached over to play his fingers through that spikey blond hair.

Now on to the fun part.

0o0o0o0o0


	2. Chapter 2

o0o0o0o0o

Chapter Two

o0o0o0o0o

Clay watched as his remaining men gathered before him.

Three men, each looking scruffy, pissed off, beaten up, and, for the first time in their lives as Losers, defeated.

They had searched the compound for the last two hours, trying to find some clue as to what exactly had just happened. And who the hell just took one of their own right out of their, supposedly, unbreakable grip. They spent two hours finding out nothing, but how completely, undeniably unprepared they had been for this mission. Nothing that they had thought was real actually was.

"House don't even have a real floor!" Roque was snarling. "Clay, the whole thing is barely standing!" He would have hit something if his wounded shoulder wasn't hurting so bad. The fact that he didn't hit anything told Clay just how bad the man was actually hurt. Not that he would admit it. Beyond letting Cougar dig the bullet out and stitching him up, he refused any more first aid, insisting that they were wasting time.

But Clay knew he would have to get the big man to proper medical facilities, sooner rather than later.

Cougar had run through the jungle, searching for a trail, a camp, any remaining bad guys. But there was nothing. Apparently all the crap for the ambush had been flown in. Hell, even the Losers had hiked in through the jungle for two days in the hope of avoiding detection.

"Damn ATV doesn't even have an engine." Pooch complained. He had admired the vehicle at first, but, when Mr. Blond had taken to the sky with his best friend, he had jumped into the ATV in the hopes of, in the very least, head in the same direction and get some idea about where they were heading. Maybe keep up long enough for Cougar to nail the chopper with a tracker.

Clay yanked him out after he had bloodied his knuckles smashing the dash with his fists. Jenson might be the one taken, but Clay's whole damn unit was in trouble!

Clay and Roque had questioned the few bad guys who had survived the fight; Clay playing up the dark, emotionless killer, Roque playing up… well, himself. But they got nothing. They were too stupid or, surprisingly, more afraid of Mr. Blond than any of them. Even when Clay let Roque loose on them, all they got were a few obvious aliases: Mr. Pink, Mr. Orange… Oh, and whole lot of blood.

A lot of blood!

Roque had been really pissed off!

"Colonel, what're we gonna do?" Pooch wanted to know.

Clay shook himself out of his thoughts, to look at his men, one at a time, before answering "We get Jenson back."

"How?" Roque snapped. "Just how the hell are we supposed to do that, Clay? You know where he is? Do you? You get somethin' from those little pussies I didn't catch?" He glared at his commander, challenging him. "'Cause all I got was a lot of screaming and crying…"

"Heard that." Pooch mumbled. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea of torture. But there were a lot of lines he was willing to cross if it meant getting Jenson back.

Roque continued to rampage. "Did you all find anything that tells us shit about that bastard? Pooch? Cougar? No?" He swatted at the air. "That's right! We got squat! Zippo! Nadda! So, tell us, Clay, just how the hell you plannin' on gettin' Jenson back?" He spat on the ground, grumbling "Shit, the kid's probably on the other side of the country by now, getting on with his prepping for his new function."

"A weapon." came Cougar's quiet growl.

"A fucking human weapon." Pooch emphasized. He looked up at Clay. "J can't do that, man. He's a fucking kid, for crying out loud! He can't even talk to girls without tongue tying a noose around his own neck! He plays video games all day, read comic books… He's a kid…"

"He is not a kid!" Clay snapped.

His three men snapped to at his tone, their eyes widening slightly, heads coming up.

Colonel Franklin Clay stared down each one, telling them in no uncertain terms "Captain Jake Jenson is a soldier! He earned that distinction time and time again covering each and every one of our asses! He is a soldier! And he knew exactly what he was doing…"

"Come on, Clay! Jenson didn't know shit!" Roque roared back. "He sure as hell didn't know where he was going."

Clay held up the shiny computer that had attracted Jenson's attention in the first place. "He knew his girlfriend would know."

0o0o0o0o0

His head felt so heavy.

So incredibly heavy.

And thick.

Like at the top of his neck was a huge boulder.

With a sandpaper tongue. Because his tongue felt like sand paper and tasted like it had been used to polish up an old, rusty toilet seat.

And that made his stomach twist, and protest, and cramp, and reject…

His throat burned with bile.

His breath was muggy, rancid.

His eyes itched and stung like world class allergies.

"Shit." Jenson croaked as he rolled over on to his side and coughed. "I hate tranqs!" He reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but his hand jerked against a sharp metal bracelet, chain rattling.

His ears rang with the rattling, sending waves of over bearing sound bouncing around his skull, rolling his gut.

With a groan, he buried his face in his arm. He held his breath for the longest time, hoping to all that was holy that he'd pass out.

A chuckle rocked the room. "Now, now, little lovely. Don't do that." Gentle fingers ran through his hair. "Breath. Slow, deep breaths. In and out… clear your pretty little head… so busy that pretty little head of yours…"

Jenson froze.

Who…?

Sure as hell wasn't the way the Colonel usually checked up on his men when they had been hurt. Roque would just kick him. Cougar would stare at him from the dark corner of the room. Pooch was the most likely to be gentle, and he'd likely slap him up along the side of his head for getting snatched and doped by some Reservoir Dog wanna-be…

Mr. Blond!

Jenson peeled one bleary eye open, then the other, forcing himself to look at his captor.

There Mr. Blond sat in his perfect three-piece suit, smiling that Great White shark smile, running manicured fingers through his captive's spikey hair.

The soldier jerked away so violently his wrist popped and cut as it hit the end of the manacle's length. He scrambled and twisted about, until he had managed to put his back against the brass headboard he was cuffed to, his knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on his host.

Mr. Blond held something out to him. "These might help." He offered.

Jenson's eyes flickered to the offering. He hesitated for a breath, before his free hand snapped out, snatched his glasses up, and fixed them on his face where they belonged.

The room came into a sharp focus. It was a small room with stark white walls. A breeze blew through a small barred window, lacey white curtains fluttering in response. There was one door, a big, heavy looking thing with a nailed board over where the door knob should have been. A ceiling fan circulated the air above the bed, sending out a low buzzing sound. The only furniture in the room was a thick armchair covered in exotic looking flowers, a nightstand with a lamp and small bowl water, and the brass framed twin size bed Jenson was cuffed to. A thin white bedspread covered the bed, rumpled from where Jenson had laid.

Mr. Blond sat quietly on the foot of the bed, watching his prize, wearing a look that was really starting to freak Jenson out.

The young hacker tried to back even further into the wall behind him. "What you doing?" he demanded of his captor.

Mr. Blond's smile actually went from Great White to T-Rex. "Watching you." He answered.

Jenson's eye brows rose. "That's…. um, yea, that's… that's not at all creepy… nope…" he grumbled.

His captor's smile never wavered. "One of your many wonders, indeed. Laughing at ease in a surely stressful moment." He complimented.

"Yea… that's me: grace under fire." Jenson mumbled. He stole a glance at the cuff biting into his wrist.

It was a simple, antique piece of metal, designed for a simpler time. A simpler time when chains were welded into place.

"Oh, would you look at that." Mr. Blond reached for his hand.

Jenson tried to jerk it away, but he was already at the end of his length.

But Mr. Blond paused at the jerk, looking from the bleeding wrist to the young man before him. "Skittish, are we? Now, there is no need for that. I offer only comfort." He held his hand out, waiting for Jenson to offer his own. When he didn't, Mr. Blond gave an exaggerated sigh. Taking a sponge from a bowl of water on the night stand, he held it out to his captive. "If you will not let me care for your wounds, then care for them yourself."

The young soldier glanced at the sponge, glanced at the man, then, hesitantly, reached out with his free hand to take the sponge. Keeping one eye on his captor, he dabbed at his wrists, wiping away the trails of blood.

"Gently now." Coached Mr. Blond.

Jenson paused to glare at him. "What do you care?"

Mr. Blond spread his hands. "Haven't I mentioned it? I'm sure I have. Well, no matter. I don't mind saying it again." He brought up that Great White Shark smile again. "You…" he reached out to tap Jenson's nose like he was a small child, "… are a valuable commodity. Valuable commodities must be taken care of, treasured, protected… trained…" He paused to shrug. "Least their value decreases."

His eyes narrowed. "I am not a commodity!" he growled.

Mr. Blond chuckled. "Darling, we are all commodities."

The hacker looked at him, a snappy retort just on the tip of his tongue. But the look in the man's eyes stopped him cold.

Well dressed, well mannered, calm and in control, with the eyes of a predator that crawled down his prey and back up, taking in every bit of his prize.

Jenson tried to stay very still, to stop the shaking in his hands. He dropped his eyes, trying so hard not to let Mr. Blond see the sudden panic rise up in his chest. He felt exposed, unprotected, alone… scared. Everything he knew, that he had been trained to do… shit, he was a fucking highly trained, Special Ops, American soldier!... was gone. All there was were those eyes that felt almost as if they left finger prints where ever they touched his skin.

Damn, what would the boys say about this! Poor, little Jenson getting violated by a pair of eyes!

Anger suddenly swelled up and his blue eyes snapped up. "Shit, sell your own fat ass then!" he snapped.

Instantly, Jenson regretted it.

Mr. Blond's smile flickered, fading. He cupped his hands in his lap. "Well, then… suppose I tell you, now, how this will proceed."

Jenson swallowed. "You say `been a blast' and let me go?" he suggested, though his voice had lost all power, the words coming out less than a whisper.

Mr. Blond called over his shoulder "Gentlemen."

The door opened and two large men stepped in and came to stand on either side of Mr. Blond. They both wore black slacks, creased perfectly, cuffed neatly over shiny black oxfords. Both wore tight wife beaters over thick, muscular chests. Arms that looked more like tree trunks rested at ease, huge hands clasped in front of them casually.

"May I introduce Mr. Pink…" Mr. Blond waved his hand to one, then the other "… and Mr. White."

Mr. Pink was the big white guy, his tan hair in a marine cut, his rusty colored eyes as unemotional as a brick. His shirt, like his name, was pink.

Mr. White's skin was as black as pitch, his head bald and shiny. His eyes were black, the white a shocking contrast. His shirt, like his name, was also a shocking white.

Jenson offered the pair a frown. "Really? Man, that was a really bad movie… and I mean, come on!" He waved his free hand at Mr. White. "How typical is it for the black man to get Mr. White? Racist much?!" He waved at Mr. Pink. "And, shit, man, did you get the short end of the color wheel. Pink? Is that supposed to strike fear in the hearts of your enemies? Mr. Pink? Doesn't that just step on your manhood just a bit?"

Neither man even blinked.

Mr. Blond remained calm as he explained "I assure you, my prize, that Mr. Pink is quite in charge of his manhood. If so provoked, you may just find out."

Jenson felt his breath catch, his stomach flip.

Mr. Blond rose to his feet. "We use the practice of reward and punishment." He touched his chest. "I am reward." He indicated his two men. "They are punishment." He turned and headed for the door, speaking as he went "I am reward, protection, comfort…" he glanced over his shoulder at Jenson. "Desire… as long as I am here, you will not be harmed in any way what so ever. It won't be long before you will long for my presence, will do anything for the want of me."

"Humph!" Jenson huffed.

Mr. Blond turned to face him, leaning back against the door frame. He bobbed a finger at one man, then the other. "Cruel and Unusual Punishment." He renamed them. "They will demonstrate their individual talents as soon as I leave. I will return as I see fit, but, be sure, as time goes by, you will need to find ways to… entice my return." That said, he turned to the door again.

"I won't do what you want!" Jenson yelled after him. "I am not a commodity!" he insisted.

Mr. Blond threw him one more glance, batting his eye lashes. "I'm sure you will discuss it among yourselves." Then he stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Jenson stared at the door for a breath, before looking back at the two men standing at the foot of the bed. Offering them a smile, he wondered "Don't suppose you all wanna have a friendly game of Blind Man's Bluff? Winner gets a night out on the town, worry free, slave chain free?"

Mr. Pink and Mr. White began moving down the bed toward him, one on each side.

With a last snatch at courage, Jenson warned "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I must!"

That brought a smile to their faces.

Each a Great White Shark smile, a predator, King of the Jungle, rattlesnake… killers!

And Jenson was their prey.

0o0o0o0


	3. Chapter 3

0o0o0o0o0

Chapter Three

0o0o0o0o0

_"I will find you! I will get you back!"_

_The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know."_

"Boss?"

Clay's eyes snapped open.

Instantly the scene was gone.

Jenson was gone.

Mr. Blond was gone.

Slipped out of his fingers like the wisps of a dream.

With an angry shake of his head, Clay blinked, and focused on the here and now.

Cougar was sitting beside him in the helicopter, leaning forward so he could see pass his colonel and out the window at the base below them. From under the shadow of the brim of his hat, he gave an ever so slight nod out the window.

Brow furrowed, Clay turned and looked out.

They were flying over the base, heading towards the landing strip. Most everything looked as it had when they had left… what, had it been four days ago now? Lines of tents, temporarily barracks that had stood for a few years now, spotted with little more permanent buildings that served as offices, armories, garages, supply depots, so on and so forth. A huge pavilion served as the mess hall, at the center of the base. The air field was on the far side of the base, separated by a defense perimeter, just in case the aircrafts were targeted, the base had some protection; just in case the base fell, the air field would be protected as a fallback position.

The odd bit, what had caught Cougar's attention, was the row of Black Hawks that sat at the edge of the air field. They were unmarked; pilots without uniforms standing by them; soldiers in black uniforms, masks rolled up, sitting around on the ground, working weapons to perfection; crates, just as undescript as everything else, sat under heavy guard.

"Well, fuck!" Roque snarled. "CIA?"

Clay shook his head. "DOD." He corrected. He should have known. Should have known when they approached him last week. Should have known they wouldn't have been too far away when they returned.

He held the small, silver computer a little tighter. "Cougar, you and Pooch get Roque to the infirmary…"

"What?" Roque huffed. "I'm fine!"

Clay glanced at him with raised eyebrows. Sure, he wasn't bleeding to death, but he was sweating and flushed. End of argument. He turned back to Cougar. "Stay together. Don't tell anyone about Jenson. Keep the mission team only." He ordered. As soon as the chopper touched the ground, Clay was out, sliding the door wider for his team to get out.

"What about you?" Pooch asked as he hopped out after Roque.

Clay glanced around. "Gonna find out what's on this computer." He looked back at his three men with one last warning "Look after each other." Then he was hurrying away, taking the gate furthest from the DOD men.

Cougar and Pooch exchanged a glance, before, one on either side, they began to direct the growling Roque toward the base.

Colonel Clay hurried through the base, heading for one building. He kept his eyes averted, feeling as if he was under watch the moment they had landed.

DOD on base, he had no doubt that was exactly what was happening.

Department of Defense…. Wonderful guys. Determined to protect the United States of America, even if it meant destroying the country in the process. Their theory: kill, least someone make a funny face at you. Oh, yea, and use and abuse your own to get the job done.

"Taylor!" Clay called out to a woman just stepping out of the building he was hurrying towards.

Commander Amanda Taylor paused, looking over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw who it was. "Clay. You and the boys back so soon?" Her smile faded as he came closer and she saw his expression. "Wait… are you…"

Clay stepped up close to her, leaving only the computer between him and her. "Need your help, Taylor."

She didn't hesitate. Only nodded and stepped back to open her office door for him.

Taylor commanded the computer science division of the base. She hunted hackers, digital terrorists, and other such computer age enemies. Often, Taylor had invited Jenson to her division, teach some of her kids some sneaky tricks that they wouldn't ordinarily learn from MIT or other legit schools of learning. Not to mention those late evenings of World of War Craft, which, lets face it, she did run a squad of geeks… Jenson fit right in.

Not to mention, it gave her a reason to call Clay over. Let the kids to play, while the adults… well, they had their own games.

Clay was scanning the room of computers and techs as he hurried pass her and straight through to the little room in the back, Taylor's office. Setting his plunder on the desk, he turned and watched her close the door behind them.

"What's going on, Colonel?" Taylor asked. "Are the boys alright?"

For a moment, the tough as nails Colonel dropped his eyes, looking like a hurt father. "Roque's in the infirmary. Pooch and Cougar are fine." He hesitated, closing his eyes.

_"I will find you! I will get you back!"_

_The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know."_

Taylor touched his arm, lightly. "Jenson?" She didn't need him to answer. She could see it in his face. Even with his eyes closed, she could tell. "Oh, no… Clay, I'm sorry…"

His eyes snapped open. Tapping the top of the computer, he looked at Taylor. "Jenson was trying to find out where this thing came from. Can you?"

Taylor looked up at him for a moment. She knew better than that. He would never, not really, open up. Not about something that hurt him like this, not about losing one of his boys…

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the computer. "Well, let's take a look…" She opened the computer and took a moment to make a few taps. "Huh."

"No!" Clay growled. "No huhs, or this isn't rights, or whatevers. Please, just say it!"

Taylor smiled slightly, just imagining the conversation he must have had with Jenson. "There's already a trace working on it. Jenson must have already started it."

Clay frowned. "But he had only seconds… if!"

The woman shrugged. "The kid is smart as hell, Clay. He must have pulled one of his Cloud tricks…"

"Cloud?"

Taylor nodded. "Sure. He blows my kids out of the water every time. He stored a bunch of hacks in the Cloud so that, in a toe to toe with any other hacker, or a rush hack, he could just yank down programs already set up and ready to go. He had a trace ready to go and…" She paused with a few more taps. "And, damn, that is a bloodhound of a trace too. A damn hunter!" she whistled in appreciation. But then she frowned. Looking up at Clay, she asked "This is the Trap System, isn't it?"

Clay's eyes narrowed. "The Trap System?"

"DOD's been cannibalizing the Computer Science departments, trying to find hackers to go after it. No one's been able to pinpoint it… followed it to Hong Kong, New York, every major city and few unknown villages that just happened to have wifi… no one was ever able to get close enough…"

"Except Jenson." Clay ground the words out. "They knew it was a trap? You knew?"

Taylor shrugged. "I had my suspicions. A system that good, supposedly, would have been put to use by now. All it was doing, so far, was attracting hackers… a lot of hackers. Hackers, good hackers, are at a premium. Particularly hackers that can dance around my kids like they were fingerless." She shook her head. "I told DOD that. Told them it was a trap when they ordered the tracker."

"Tracker? They were already tracing this thing?"

The Commander shook her head. "Sub-dermis tracker… goes under the skin… they didn't care about the computer. They wanted to find out who would spend this much money to snatch a hacker…" She frowned again. "You didn't know anything about this? But, the tracker…"

Clay slammed his fist on the desk. "Sons of bitches! They set us up! They set Jenson up!" he roared.

"Didn't DOD come to you…?"

The Colonel nodded. "Little over a week ago. Wanted to borrow _Jenson_." He looked at her with hard eyes. "I said no. No way in hell I was gonna turn that kid over to their care. Not one of my boys!" He waved a hand. "Then we got this assignment…" His eyes widen a little. "Jenson was called into the infirmary last minute… claimed he needed his last dose of antibiotics before they okayed him for mission." He shook his head. "He was sick the week before. Didn't think anything about it…" he ground the words out, hating himself for not being more suspicious.

Taylor let him storm for a moment, feeling the same betrayal he must have been feeling. If her people had been better, more talented, it would have been her mourning a loss, rather than…

"Wait… Did Jenson… die… or was he taken?" she asked suddenly.

Clay's eyes snapped about to latch onto her.

Taylor explained "They tagged him. He has a tracker. DOD must be planning on going after him…"

Clay was already heading for the door. But, yanking it open, he paused, looking back at her. "Keep working on that thing. DOD's not looking for Jenson. They don't give a rat's ass about him. They're looking for their fucking target, everything else can go to hell. We have to find Jenson. We're the only ones looking for him, the only ones who give a damn!"

Taylor took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll keep working it. But, Clay, as good as Jenson is, this program could take days, even weeks to hunt down every trail…" She met his eyes and asked "How long do you think he has?"

Clay held her gaze for a breath, then spun about and hurried away.

Running away from the question as much as running toward an answer.

0o0o0

He hurt.

Everything hurt.

His head throbbed.

His gut was turned inside and out.

His throat was raw from dry retching.

His legs bruised and aching.

His feet on fire.

Well, shit!

Jenson was curled up against the head board, his wrist hanging from the cuff, forgotten among all his other pains. His clothing was gone, all but his Pac man boxers, leaving him shivering in the cold air, despite the heat of his skin. His head rested against the cool wall, trying very hard not to move. Even with his eyes closed, flashes of white light continued to pierce his skull.

It was Mr. White who did that, holding his head back, face pressed into the light bulb while Mr. Pink used his kidneys as punching bags. They took turns whipping the soles of his feet, but it was Mr. White who tried to blind him. Mr. Pink seemed to prefer the hands on punishment: punching, kicking, pinching, slapping, whipping….

Jenson bit back a whimper as a hand settled on his bare leg.

"Shhhh." Breathed lightly in his ear. Fingers brushed his sticky hair away from his face. A cool, damp cloth was brought up and held to his eyes, instantly cooling and fading the blinding flashes.

Jenson couldn't help the sigh of relief, his free hand reaching up to hold the damp cloth in place.

"There you go." Purred the voice. Gentle hands ran down his legs, untangling them until they laid out before him. Another cool, damp cloth brushed down his skin, washing away sticky sweat, cooling welts and bruises. When the cloth reached his feet, Jenson tensed. But the voice hummed, calming his nerves despite himself. His feet were washed gently, cooling the burning.

He didn't know how long it went on. The cooling, the soothing, the comforting, the humming… Eventually, he began to drift off, sleep calling to him.

The cloth was removed from his eyes and Jenson winced away. But the light no longer burned like it had.

Jenson braved opening his eyes to gaze at Mr. Blond who sat beside him on the bed, wringing out the cloth. Through cracked lips, he wondered in a horse whisper "Why are you doing this?"

Mr. Blond sighed as he soaked the cloth and wrung it out again. "Did you know that you can repair a broken sword?" he spoke softly, his voice a soft hum. "Break it, then fuse the blade back together, break it again, fuse again… But each time it becomes weaker and weaker… until it breaks for the final time… never to be repaired again." He wiped the cloth across his prize's shoulders.

Frozen in place, afraid to move, Jenson tried his best to glare at the man. "Then what?" he asked.

Mr. Blond smiled that Great White smile. "Then you throw the broken pieces into the fire, melt it down, create something new… something great." He looked up at the boy. "Have you ever heard the term that the pen is greater than the sword?"

Jenson swallowed. "A time or two." He admitted.

"Well, now that we live in an age where the pen is obsolete… what would you consider greater than the sword?" He moved his attention from Jenson's shoulders to his chest.

Jenson's free hand snapped down, grabbing the cloth. "I will not… I won't break." He promised.

Mr. Blond smiled as he leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. He tilted his head to one side, his lashes fluttering. "How sweet your determination." He slowly rose to his feet. "Well, then, if you have not broken… then what am I doing here? Mending what broken blade?" With a shrug, he turned and went to the door. He smiled over his shoulder before slipping out.

Jenson let his head fall back against the wall. "I won't break!" he promised himself.

Won't get the chance!

Any minute now the Losers were gonna bust through that door…

Well, Cougar would be across the street, single shots sounding his perfect aim taking out the guards.

Pooch would be down at the front, revving the engine of some tank like, high powered, very stolen vehicle.

Roque would be the first one through the door, honking huge sword like knives spinning like some pissed off, dark age warrior, hacking limbs off left and right, sending blood spraying up the walls.

Clay would come in next, guns in each hand, guns hanging off his arms, off his belt, tucked into his boots. He'd bob his head at Jenson, throw him a cocky smile, toss him something that'd set him lose…

Yup, that's how the Losers would do it.

Any minute now…

The door opened.

Jenson looked up.

Mr. White and Mr. Pink stepped into the room.

Jenson tried to smile up at them. "Say, you fellas didn't see a really pissed off, big, dark age warrior sort spinning sword like knives around out there… did you?"

Mr. White closed the door behind him with a solid sounding clank.

"Yea?" Jenson groaned. He tossed the cloth on the night stand. "Maybe later."

0o0o0o0o0


End file.
